


Devoted Protection Means Watching Them Grow in a Harsh World

by silent_rage



Series: A Bundle Of My Children's Stories [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Child Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, also my writing sucks lol, my poor bbys didnt have a good childhood, sorry yall its just angst, starting off their story sad here huh, theyre ocs for the one piece world but im using it for original work here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:48:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26791663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silent_rage/pseuds/silent_rage
Summary: Ryan could never breathe right whenever Quinn came to him bloody and bruised, damaged by the hand of their own father. Could never see right, blinded by the rage that encaptures his heart and fuels his hatred. Could never feel right, watching his baby sister become the shell of the woman she could've been.OR5 times Ryan saw his sister get hurt and 1 time he didn't
Relationships: Quinn & Ryan & Bruce King, Quinn & Ryan King
Series: A Bundle Of My Children's Stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953616





	Devoted Protection Means Watching Them Grow in a Harsh World

**Author's Note:**

> >.> yeah this is purely for me but, uh, hi if u come by!
> 
> Quick Note:  
> \- their world works like the marines in One Piece  
> \- I just want to take a moment to apologize to my oc's bcuz i give them too much angst that they don't deserve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan was never born into a good life and it just so happens his baby sister gets the same fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: child abuse, premature childbirth, a major character death, small suicidal ideals (like not really there)  
> No comfort here, that's for later chapters ;))

Born on January tenth, Ryan was introduced to the wonders of the world. He entered the world screaming, fussing, wanting to be heard. He screamed, and screamed, only to quiet in the arms of something comforting. It was warm, and there was a sound, light, high, and joyful above him. Softness touched his face and all he knew was bliss. He moved, wanting to be closer, but it didn't do much, body still too new to do anything. So when he was ripped away from the source of safety, his scream picked back up, his wails loud as ever. 

The sound coming above him was deeper, muddier, harder to make out. The safe voice was back and he wailed louder to get back to it, but the one who had him now did not move. The deeper sound got louder, still hard to hear, and the safer sound came back quieter. The sounds went back and forth to each other, ongoing for several minutes before he felt himself move and was finally put back into safety. More high-pitched sounds were made his way and he relaxed, the sound of the door slamming lost to him as he focused on the sounds of his safety, falling asleep.

What he didn't know was that was the last time his father held him in his arms. 

Four years were spent with his mother, the warmth of her hugs becoming his safety to the outside world, to the harsh sounds of his father, and the only love he's ever received. When he wasn't in his tutors and forced to walk around with his dad at his work, he was with her. They read together, drew together, played together. Ryan took to drawing like bees were to nectar. Every drawing he made went on the fridge, courtesy of his mom. She took every drawing with pride, with love, and strived to make more for her. Maybe it was weird how he didn't spend time like this with his other parent or didn't feel the same, but he was far too young to really take any note of it. It was just him and his mom against the world.

A few months later, it was his mom, him, and his _baby sister_ against the world. 

He fell in love with the idea of having a sibling, being the eldest. He wanted to give as much love as his mother would give her so she got double the love he never got. He could just imagine it, the three of them in their own little group. The ideas grew as his mother's stomach did. His old baby room became hers, the crib a hand-me-down, as well as a few of the toys, but everything else was new. He talked to her through the stomach, telling her how much he loved her, how they were going to be together all the time. He loved his sister, but he thought his mom loved her even more. He was okay with that, she was her baby after all. She would hum songs to her, songs she had yet to sing to him, songs that filled his heart with the urge to hug her. Which he did, she told him she'd never get tired of those. 

His sister came two weeks early.

He came back from his personal tutors to see his mother on the floor, his father above her, and her clutching her stomach. He didn't understand much of what was happening but he was soon being rushed into a car as they sped to the hospital, his father behind the wheel with his knuckles white in anger. He decided to stay quiet, instead holding his mother's hand, the warmth of his safety coming back full swing. He was jostled around in the car, and with a face full of pain, his mother spoke through clenched teeth to put on his seatbelt. She never let go of his hand and it was starting to hurt so he forced his hand out of hers and clicked the belt into place, the rest of the ride silent with the only sounds being his mother's cries. His eyes filled with tears, steadily flowing down his cheeks as he wondered what was going on. His sister was coming, so why did she look so sad?

He was allowed to go into the room with his dad. Someone tried to insist he wasn't but whatever his dad did had them standing down and soon he was next to his dad in the corner away from everyone. It was chaotic, everyone was rushing to get things ready, several eyes glancing back at him - no, his father - before rushing to finish what they needed. He didn't really understand it, but his dad being in here made them nervous. It felt like an eternity before the doctors were telling his mom to push, her screams following afterward. He cried again, wanting to go to his mom if it were not for his father's hand pushing down onto his shoulder to keep him in place. 

His sister entered the world, quiet. 

There was no screaming, no crying, and his mother was yelling. Soon, she wasn't, and chaos erupted from the room once more. There was beeping and talking going on everywhere around him and he was getting overwhelmed, putting his hands over his ears when a long, resonating beep echoed across the walls. His father's hand never left his shoulder and all Ryan could think was when was this whole thing going to be over so they could all go home?

She never came back home and a funeral happened while his baby sister continued to stay in the hospital. 

Her name was Quinn and although her beginning started out rough she was here, alive, and so, _so_ beautiful. A maid was here now taking care of her, but Ryan prided himself in doing everything else that he could do. He insisted he learn how to do it, she was _his_ sister after all. His mother...his mother wasn't here anymore and he was now the only person who would give her the love she deserved. His father...he was getting rougher, his voice becoming the opposite of what his mother was like. He cried.

If his father wasn't going to, then he'd give every ounce of love he had into her. She was Quinn, worthy of living the best life he could give her. 

What that life was, he wasn't sure. He was five, he didn't have much of a life of his own outside of this house, but he sure knew he was going to give it to her. They'd draw together just like he planned, they'd be together just like he imagined. Only one person was missing from his goal, but, he couldn't do much about that but cry. And then cry when his father tells him to stop. 

He hated it when his father did that. Wasn't he sad about mom, too?

Quinn was quiet compared to what he was like as a baby, or so his mom said. She still cried, still fussed, but it was gentle unless something made her upset, and then she'd make it clear she was also her father's child. He had to be told how to hold her correctly and before he knew it he was holding her for most of the time they hung out. He counted it as their plans, continuingly showing off his drawings to her even though she could not comment or understand them. He started hanging his drawings on her wall instead of the fridge. ~~No mother would be there.~~

She has the same hair like his mom, the same shade of soft blonde, little tuffs of it curling into each other. Like him, she also inherited their mom's dark gray eyes. He looked at her and it was like he was looking at a baby version of the woman he was never going to see again. He dug his palms into his eyes to the point where they hurt and he was seeing stars, twisting to add emphasis. He will not cry. He won't. 

He does.

Months pass, two years, and his father's treatment is getting worse. His tutors don't mention, don't even look, at the barely hidden bruises littered up his arms. One is glaringly dark around his eye but his tutor only looks at his nose and tells him to complete his assignment. They make him write with his other hand when he comes in with a broken arm the next week, make him take an essay even though his hands are clearly shaking the month after. He is only seven, yet he gets the treatment of a new recruit who's at the age of sixteen. He is known publicly, nationwide, spread as the _Heir_ of his father's reign. He is young, they say, you have to start them off young. The life of a Marine is a dangerous business, if you're not properly trained you'll get killed, they continue. It is completely justified, they claim.

He doesn't know if it's justified, but he just wants it to stop. He hears the whispers at his father's work, the way they look at him, at his bruised body, and they see _nothing wrong with it._

He cries again.

He comes in with another broken arm.

He comes in with a broken heart.

Quinn will have to deal with this, he realizes one day after he was sent to his room, cheek stained red from a hand that was supposed to be loving. She will get hit, and soon, when she's older, will be pulled along in his work like he is to be. She'll be pushed to the ground, beaten like he is. His sister will grow up to wonder what she's done to deserve this as he does. His _baby_ sister will cry, with the reason being the same as him. Is this the fate they were brought upon? To be hit, unloved? 

He comes in with a burning, roaring ache so deep in his chest it makes him stand up every time his father pushes him down.

He won't take it anymore. Not when Quinn's safety is on the line. If his father wants him to train, he'll train. He'll train to one day fight back and _win_. He'll protect Quinn, just like how he and his mom planned. He'll become strong, unwavering. He'll play his father's game, for now, no matter how long that game may be, and he'll win it. At only seven years old, Ryan was already desiring his father's demise.

Those words were easier said than done. 

Broken. Broken, was what he was. Back against the hard bark of the tree in their backyard, his head hung low, blank eyes staring at his hands on his lap. Scars littered everywhere he looked, ages-old. His arms grew thick but strained and tight, years of training mercilessly damaging, body strong but soul tainted. The sun beat down on him, the clothes sticking to his skin, the shoulder-length hair he was growing out making him feel suffocated, but he did not move. He'd been there for hours after his training session, body sore, body numb. 

He was tired. So tired. 

How long was this going to last? The years went by and yet he wasn't even close at getting to his father's level of strength or skill, always ending up under his foot at his mercy (which there wasn't much of). Where was that resolve back when he was a kid when he promised himself he was going to become strong to protect the one he loved? He didn't have the motivation to try to dig for it, probably already buried deep where the childhood trauma covered it. He didn't have the motivation to do much, anymore. Perhaps this is where he lost, the game he was never going to win. Maybe there wasn't even a game and it was only childish hope for peace and hope that this wasn't just going to be their life. But it was, and Quinn is paying the price of being born into this family. 

He was tired.

There was a chance he could book it out at eighteen, but...his father wouldn't allow it. By next year at the ripe, very _appropriate_ age of fourteen, he'd already be enlisted to be a marine. It looks like his fate was set for life. He'd become a marine, put his torturous training to good use, rise up the ranks, and become just another puppet to the government. He'd say it was worse because he'd be under command of his father, but, well, he lives with him. Can't get much worse than that, can it? It was already December, by the next month when his birthday passed, that's it, done deal. Basically just sold his soul to the devil to do what it wants with it. At this point, he's going to let it happen, because what else can he do? He can't beat his father, he can't run away. He can't do anything but sit here in his own self-hatred so why do anything at all?

That's it. Only after only seven years of fighting, his fighting spirit left him. He was done. 

"Ryan! R!" 

Her voice filled out the silence that surrounded him, too loud for his current state to deal with. He closed his eyes, wanting nothing more than to be _left alone_. He'd always make time for his little sister, but the time was not now, not for a while. When he said he was done, a small part of him wanted to be done taking care of the one he long ago promised he'd protect. He didn't want to deal with anything or anyone anymore. When he opened his eyes again, Quinn's bright smile was there to greet him even though bruises littered her arms and body. He merely looked back at his lap. 

He knew her smile wasn't as bright as it used to be. His abuse started after his mother died, physically, anyway, why would Quinn not start earlier than he did? Ryan has protected that smile as much as he could, but was it enough? Was anything enough anymore? He'd protected her as much as he could yet she's still hurt, never to see that blindingly bright smile she used to give him when she was younger again. His father was bearing down on her more and more each day. Her body was also sore, also scarred, so why would she still smile?

"Why are you still out here, wasn't your training a long time ago?" When he didn't answer, she tilted her head, "What, are you hurt? Did father hurt you too much?"

Ryan humorlessly chuckled, slightly wet. Such a simple, easy question to ask. His heart squeezed hard on how smoothly those words came out of her mouth. "Why are you out here, Q?"

She stepped closer, thick, waist-length blonde hair drifting smoothly with the wind. Her still, _so very small_ hands reached out and pressed themselves against his head, fingers curling and sliding through his hair. He would have found this comforting, she had learned it from him doing it to her, after all, but he just shook her hands off him. "I have training, too, and..." She trailed off and he just knew that was her frowning voice. "Ryan?"

"Just go train, then." 

His lips curled with disgust when he knew his words were too harsh, her silence just proving it further. He's never been horrible to her before, and a big part of him felt guilty, but the part of him he was drowning in right now wanted to continue his harsh attitude; wanted to scream at everything near him, use the anger that builds up and explode it until he felt better. He already established he was done, why did he have to continue behaving? Maybe he'd get the last laugh before he burns in this hellhole, mess up his father's reputation a little before he's gone. He wonders what he'd do to make that happen, or if it'll happen at all. His father is rather good at burying things. It seems his father is good at a lot of things besides being a god damn father.

He must have sighed through his muddy thoughts, as Quinn reached out again. He didn't stop her, but his scowl stayed. The sun had heated his hair hot enough to make him feel stuffy, and having someone near him made him feel ready to explode with that heat. Quinn continued, unaware of his building irritation, looking down at him with her gray eyes. "I'm sorry...father wants you to come to watch."

"Of fucking course he does." It slipped out of his mouth easily, closing his eyes and doing deep breaths. As much...as much as he wanted to blow up at someone, as much as he was done, blowing up at Quinn seemed like too much of a sin to commit. 

Getting to his feet, he let himself stretch and let the pain erupting from his body distract himself from seeing his dad. He never liked seeing him after training, and to do so so early is going to fuck with him for the rest of the day. Running his hand through his growing hair, he let himself stand there for a few more moments before making his way back to the training arena. Quinn followed after him, looking up every few moments. Entering, the cool air was a big contrast to the heat he was forcing himself in, the air slightly blowing his hair back and seeping into his clothes. Their father was in the middle of everything, standing tall and intimidating like he always is, and so easily out in the open, it makes him want to take a gun and just-

"Let's get started."

One day.

Ryan seated himself away from them, watching as the small, the _tiny_ body of Quinn ready herself for the giant in front of her. He heard her take a deep breath, holding it in before letting it out, wary eyes anticipating his first move. Their father only steadied his stance, steel eyes focused without mercy. Ryan knew that, and so did Quinn, her fists slightly shaking in front of her. He would not go easy on her, would not hesitate to harm. Bruce didn't stop, look back, or lose. He was unwavering, a wall no one could hope to climb. Ryan thought he was like that, too, once upon a time. In truth, his shadow was too big and he suffocated for it. Even now, his shadow stretched to cover Quinn's quivering form, cruel and cold and empty. 

Quinn didn't stand a chance.

She ran at him, crying out as she did so, arm held back with a tight fist aiming at Bruce's side. With a swipe of his arm, she was tossed aside, body stumbling to catch balance before she was forced to dodge as he attacked, a strong leg heading right at her head. Quinn ducked low, her short body proving to be some kind of advantage as she fell to the floor and rolled, dodging once more when he was relentless. She was a kid, a _child_ , however, and her body was sure to grow tired fast. She had only started training a few months ago, after all, she wasn't used to it. She panted, chest heaving hard and fast, and was too slow to move out of the way of the punch. She slid across the ground, no doubt limbs scratched and side bruised. 

"Get up!"

She did - she had to. When their father orders something it is to be done. With a heaving sob, she went onto all fours and cradled her stomach, body convulsing before she dry-heaved, the gags being heard throughout the area. She looked up, tears streaming down her cheeks as she stared desperately at her father, but he just frowned at her. Slowly, her legs shaking, she stood up, her other arm coming to join cradling her body. Their father stepped forward but she stepped back, wildly shaking her head. It didn't stop him - it never does - as he continued his chase, demanding she dodges while attacking. She screams, and Ryan's ears are muffled. She cries, and Ryan watches. She bleeds, and Ryan does nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm scared bcuz i'm really proud of this first chapter but idk if I'll be able to bring the other chapters justice T^T


End file.
